


the rose captain

by swanbrosia



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (except the ones who died in the first book and the assholes), Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Everybody Lives, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, No Lesbians Die, Not Canon Compliant, it's just kissing tho, no beta we die like men, suggestive content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22630684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanbrosia/pseuds/swanbrosia
Summary: Femslash February Day 9: OceanHer attention had been rather generously afforded to Sansa, anyways. Besides her, the most splendid thing she’d ever seen on that ship was the sun setting on the waves. From the shore, it was one thing, but to see the sky and the sea alike turn scarlet, then vermilion and amaranth in turns- she would take them in with eyes wide, and then close them and imagine the colours bursting anew on the fresh blooms of Highgarden, on the apples that she and Loras would seldom pick as children, in her mother’s eyes and on the cheeks of her beloved. Sansa was not the only one who’d loved and lost, who had suffered from the cat-and-mouse quarrels of the lords. At seventeen, Margaery had seen two more years of pain than Sansa, and far more bloodshed in the south.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	the rose captain

_Oh how the river flows / Under the ice and snow / The keeper of the flame / The rose captain knows my name / This perfume breath I breathed / For you my dear, my love will never leave_

-

In the dark sliver of the morning before the dawn, Sansa, was woken by a bird’s call. Rising from a bed that seemed hard as stone after the pheasant feather-filled mattresses of King’s Landing and slipping out from underneath furs that seemed too small for her now, she blinked the last vestiges of a dream away and followed the strident sound. It was almost as if she was a stranger in her old room, a far cry from the starry-eyed girl who’d once inhabited it years before.

A robin preened its wings on the balcony ledge, then paused to keen its song raucously in the chilly noon; taking flight once it was satisfied, cresting over the snowy crags beyond Winterfell and to regions beyond. 

Sansa wondered if it would make it past the Wall.

The aftermath of Joffrey's false wedding had taken its toll on her; fearful glances shot over her shoulder every passing second. But at the very least, she was safe.

Margaery had been true to her word, and now she was home.

She'd had to return to court, of course, after they’d fled. To keep up appearances.Sansa’s absence had been excused as a necessity, some old wives’ tale that a newly married bride would need to bid farewell to her childhood home before embarking as a woman. Complications had arisen that meant neither of them would be able to retreat to Highgarden, and now the girl would never know the promised summers underneath the splendours of outstretched magnolia trees, never know the taste of honey fresh from the sweet flowers in the godswood of the Tyrells.

A soft footfall turned her head, and there she was in the flesh; the woman who’d plucked her from a pit of lions, and led her across the frothing sea to the icy grey former prison she knew and loved so well. The brown curls she’d lain her face into many a time at night to lose her sorrows in the scent of roses and exotic wildflowers and all the overwhelming undertones that made her want to tumble down a field and run away from her. The shrewd blue eyes - paler and at the same time more vibrant than anyone else she’d ever met - that seemed to see right through her, the sweet button nose that could wrinkle in a wicked laugh at the most affronting joke, one that would have made both their septas’ toes curl.

“Were you praying, love?” Margaery’s first words to her after months are ones of concern, and Sansa’s heart warms immediately to them. She’s had no use for the Seven, not after they’d shut out her pleas and cries after her father died and left her all alone in the south with that monster of a queen.

"I've missed you," Sansa said plainly, the smile taking its time to play out across her lips. “You’re not going back until I say you can.” Margaery had been down taking care of business in the south for a time, putting pieces in place to ensure that Cersei would never, ever find them again.

Margaery laughed at that. “Of course, sweet girl. I could never leave you.” A mischievous air flitted across her face after the words had left her mouth. Her love could look so dreadfully innocent when she wanted to at court, but alone in Sansa’s presence, she was almost incapable of keeping her mirth suppressed. “Command me as you will, my queen.”

“Gladly.” Sansa obliged, pressing a greeting kiss to her lips. This time, the brunette allowed it to be chaste. “What about Cersei?”

“That bitch?” Margaery scoffed. “She’s either locked up in Baelor’s Sept or walking the streets right now to atone. I made sure my old septa gave her a good ringing.”

As terrible as it was, Sansa laughed, the sound not high and sweet like her own septa had prodded her to train it into but a hearty chortle that scared the crows above them and scattered them into the clouds. Margaery adored it so, how true and pure it rang out in the otherwise silent air of Winterfell, the chill that seemed otherwise bleak and silent half the time. She knew Sansa had grown up here, but the brunette was no wolf- and even a rose with thorns shriveled and died all the same as any other flower.

The ocean was the place where they had truly been happy, she mused- no queen to wait for them to fall into her claws, no ladies to cackle at them, no lecherous soldiers who waited like crows in the wings for the slightest tide to turn and to catch them at their mercy. Only her, Littlefinger, and Sansa in the company of a few guards- and the ratlike lord had spent most of his time hurling his guts into the waves below. He wasn’t naturally seasick- perhaps someone had slipped something into his food, but then again, who was Margaery to care? 

Her attention had been rather generously afforded to Sansa, anyways. Besides her, the most splendid thing she’d ever seen on that ship was the sun setting on the waves. From the shore, it was one thing, but to see the sky and the sea alike turn scarlet, then vermilion and amaranth in turns- she would take them in with eyes wide, and then close them and imagine the colours bursting anew on the fresh blooms of Highgarden, on the apples that she and Loras would seldom pick as children, in her mother’s eyes and on the cheeks of her beloved. Sansa was not the only one who’d loved and lost, who had suffered from the cat-and-mouse quarrels of the lords. At seventeen, Margaery had seen two more years of pain than Sansa, and far more bloodshed in the south.

“Anyways,” Margaery’s eyes glinted, and she lifted an ivory hand to Sansa’s hair, brushing a stray lock back behind her ear. It slid to her jaw, angling her face so she could hold her gaze. “It was all worth it to be back here with you, my love.”

“Stop that,” Sansa smiled good-naturedly, though her cheeks had reddened. “You’re making me blush.”

“I’ve sailed all this way to see it, sweet girl,” Margaery grinned lopsidedly in return, running her thumb up to her cheek. “And many more times, I certainly hope.”

“You’ll be staying long, then?” Sansa looked at her with so much hope in her eyes that she could almost forget what the word ‘no’ meant, throw caution to the wind and abandon The Game altogether.

“Would we be staying here forever?” Margaery took her hands. “As soon as the queen’s out of the way, we could go to Highgarden. Rule over it as ladies of the keep together.”

“I’d love that,” Sansa trilled delightedly. Her face glazed over with wistfulness for a few moments, then darkened. “But Bran..”

“Bran will find his way home.” Margaery stared firmly at her. “And when he does, we’ll come back. I may be no wolf, but you are one. And I love you. So as soon as you or I get word, we’ll both be here to open the gates for him.”

“Okay.” Sansa’s voice cracked on the first syllable, deflating on the second. Margaery knew how much she trusted her, to entrust how to tackle the matter of her brother this way.

Margaery gently pressed her lips to hers, and put her hand at the small at Sansa’s back to guide her back into the bedroom. As they went, she could see that her lover had gone red as a beet- still a little melancholy, but more embarrassed at this point. She slipped the furs over them both with a soft kiss to her temple, and slid in next to Sansa. It occurred to her to try something a little more daring to cheer her up, and she kissed Sansa again- but this time nibbled on her lip, even slipping her tongue in a little bit for good measure. To her surprise, her lover reciprocated eagerly, and Margaery didn’t know how long it was before she slid her mouth down where her jaw met her neck.

“We can’t return to Highgarden yet, you know.” Margaery’s voice was husky, and she sucked her creamy skin in between her teeth, relishing in the pink marks she left behind.

“Where will we go, ‘till then?” Sansa breathed, tone flutteringly high as Margaery trailed her mouth lower.

“We’ll sail the seas.” She nipped at the younger woman’s neck lazily. Sansa let out a low, satisfied sound. “Pretend to be pirates like the Greyjoys, maybe kill a drunken lord or two. But until then, I’ll be here- right by your side. The ocean can wait.”


End file.
